


Your Eyes

by veraciousviolinistofvirtue



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:57:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17448311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veraciousviolinistofvirtue/pseuds/veraciousviolinistofvirtue
Summary: But seeing as you were interested, so curious as to what possible stories he’d tell through a repetition of chords and melodies, he did take it into consideration, and eventually he started sharing you what he’d written and sing it to you once he has the suitable key signature and a stanza or two to perform.He never really cared for the ill words that escaped your lips.Well given that your eyes stayed on him.





	Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> One of my proud works originating from my deviantART account. I really love getting to put stories based songs, and this one is no exception to the rule.
> 
> Hope you all like it!

_Not enough._  
  
Keith runs his fingers through his hair, as he tosses the piece of crumpled paper in his hands to the trash bin. He then plops to his bed, grabbing a pillow to cover his face with. Well honestly the day wasn’t so bad, yet somehow frustration seems to course through his veins.  
  
But if there was any achievement he obtained from the things he did today, it would be the fact you had your attention solely on him.  
  
As selfish as it sounds, he was more than content with that despite the critique you’ve given him regarding a rough draft of a song he was writing.  
  
Lacked charm, a twist, talk about sad for a music lover. His interest in music was what led him to you in the first place, meeting up in a gig of a band you both enjoy listening to. It was also what led him to picking up the guitar, forming a band and covering songs until you gave him the worst and best idea he’s ever heard from you.  
  
To write songs.  
  
Sure he could play chords, but it was only because he bothered to imitate the ones in songs that caught either you or his interests, playing a key up or down if needed if his voice range couldn’t match up to the original.  
  
But seeing as you were interested, so curious as to what possible stories he’d tell through a repetition of chords and melodies, he did take it into consideration, and eventually he started sharing you what he’d written and sing it to you once he has the suitable key signature and a stanza or two to perform.  
  
He never really cared for the ill words that escaped your lips.  
  
Well given that your eyes stayed on him.  
  
He could stop, stop making a fool of himself while trying to write songs similar to the ones that you both listen to; he could stop asking you for feedback.  
  
But he just couldn’t.  
  
Keith couldn’t back down from a challenge.  
  
Especially when the objective is to impress you.  
  
His fame with the rest of the band was honestly the least of his worries when everyone else was infatuated with the chords that he played, to which he and Lance realized were eager to be heard along with the lyrics that were supposed to be meant for you and you alone, but instead became an eye catcher to everyone else.  
  


* * *

Keith lets out a sigh, selecting a song from his phone he recently added. It was a song you’d pretty much recommended since you “fell in love with the band.” The beat rather catchy, he taps his fingers against his desk before grabbing a pencil with his other hand in case of any sort of inspiration that sprouts from the chords, rifts and vocals that would ring in his ears through the blast of his headphones.  
  
His mind wanders back to the memory of your words after yet another attempt of writing a song.  
  
“You’ve been at it for an hour, Keith. Give yourself a break, man.” Lance shakes his head, grabbing his bass before taking his seat on the couch.  
  
Luckily, the guitarist wasn’t too occupied with the music to not hear him, “I think… I’ve actually got something good this time.”  
  
“Isn’t that what you said for like… I don’t know ten times? Man, this must be some girl.”  
  
As much as he wanted to counter, it was true either way. It probably wasn’t a secret any longer that he’s kept his gaze usually on you when you made it to a performance of theirs.  
  
Plus, you definitely were  _some girl_. The one who’s caused, probably, the worst train wreck Keith has experienced yet in the sea of his mind. A hurricane he saw coming but bothered not to do anything about the calamity to come.  
  
“You’re whipped man.”  
  
Well he really is.  
  
More than Lance could ever know.  
  


* * *

 _“There’s... no beauty.”_  The words came out of your mouth smoothly like silk.  
  
Keith could only slap his palm over his face in frustration. Again, that frustration that bubbles in him just seems to want rise, but he keeps it in. He’s done everything from mix and matching melodies to improving his range, yet you seem to find no appeal to anything.  
  
“I see,” he mutters under his breath.  
  
Maybe it was time to call it quits.  
  
He’s practically written what he could, adding styles that reminded him and you of the artists you both loved, yet you don’t see anything in them, any sort of reason to give it praise after the hours he spent on either a stanza or the refrain.  
  
He should probably just call it a day.  
  
Slamming his fist against the wall, he’s given the taste of realization. His eyes go to his calloused fingertips and then to the guitar on its stand merely a few distances away. Somehow things all just to make sense.  
  
He’s been so fixated on being someone else in his compositions.  
  
He couldn’t believe that he’s forgotten to be himself.  
  
Eyes going back to his desk, he could only hope that you haven’t gotten sick of his voice while giving composition another go for one last time.  
  


* * *

It’s timely how he chooses to debut the new song in the café you first had a long discussion about indie artists with him.  
  
On stage, Keith places his guitar strap on, gloved hands already in position to play before glancing at his band members who were preparing themselves.  
  
Rather than dedicating a song to you, he talks about himself, tearing at the foolish person that was “him.”  
  
No charm.  
  
No beauty.  
  
A repeating chord that wasn’t the most pleasant of melodies.  
  
Screw it, he’s going to sing as if he's shouting to the sky while performing with much earnest emotions.  
  
For once he’s not even looking at you.  
  
He feels like he's gazing upon 'himself.'  
  
When the song eventually ends, and there goes the usual applause and cheers, but this time Keith finds himself to be rather impressed he can actually do something as tedious and great while being satisfied of the product he himself made.  
  
Your eyes meet his, and somehow there’s this sense of nostalgia that hits him.  
  
But instead of the words you’d usually tell him, the words that escape your lips bring him to smile.  
  
 _“That was amazing!”_


End file.
